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to be called i vamp, desiring a title somewhat more recherche, but that word is one of honor among the cinema sirens although they claim to dislike the sound of it.
She has every qualification for stardom. She is convent bred and was married at seventeen. She has been single for several years.
— o —
Ben Turpin has made two notable purchases recently. One is a marvelous Beverly Hills home. Now that Ben has become a resident of that exclusive residential district, the roster of the mighty in the movies living there is almost complete. Ben's new home boasts of ten rooms and, he avers, nineteen baths. Hence one can see it is but a simple little cottage entirely suited to Ben's simple tastes. His other purchase is a $10,000 Pr:'., mausoleum in the Forest Lawn cemetery. *™
I was surprised to learn that Ben had fallen prey to this, the latest departure of the real estate agents for which our dear Southland is so
truly famous. The new line of endeavor for them grew out of their despair. They have had all the live ones during life for so long that they simply can not tolerate the thought that a prospect can elude them bv the simple process of dying.
Since Forest Lawn is a Protestant cemetery and Ben is a Catholic, he had to resort to some strategy to guar' antee his occupancy of his postmortem palace but, it is said, he was able to have the ground and the mausoleum, standing upon it, consecrated. I was surprised to hear of Ben's flair for things funereal. It has always been my
ft*
Dolores Steel' man, whose dad runs the Lesley ranch rides, ropes and raises the dust generally.
Lorna Duveen and the luc\y hear cubs who joined Milton Sills' troupe on location.
conjecture that a mausoleum to him meant that stuff one utilizes in cover' ing the kitchen floor.
As well as being screamingly funny on the screen Ben Turpin is just as much of a clown in real life. Recently he was over at Catalina, the beautiful Isle of Wrigley forty miles from Hollywood, where one vacations at ten dollars a day and up, including boat fare and a peek at the submarine gardens. While there Ben was guilty of what he terms a "black hand plot." Thus:
The flappers at Catalina and the Southland beaches this season have been wearing what they term "beach" pants, a queer psychological quirk as a matter of fact, since pantalets have not been a part of the modern girl's ward' robe for quite some time. But now, at the beach, after a dip in the surf, the flappers wriggle their devious ways and also their legs into white sailor jeans, the ones that are very tight across here and very much like a blunderbuss elsewhere.
Well, when Ben was at Catalina he did not even have to cross his eyes to be recognized by the flappers beach' combing the beach in their beach pants which are ideal for beach combing. They fairly mobbed him in lionizing him and Ben wanted to prove to one in particular that he was a great man.
So he inveigled her up to the hotel verandah. Then he excused himself and snuck into the kitchen where he smirched his good right hand generously with stove polish.
Returning to the verandah he greeted the flapper in somewhat this manner:
"Allons enfant! Voulez-vous a faire une promenade avec moi!"
Then he slapped her roundly with his good right hand right where she had been sitting. But the flapper thought